


Once You Taste It

by Carmenlire



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Supportive Magnus Bane, but not really more than the show portrays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 15:06:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16410788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenlire/pseuds/Carmenlire
Summary: He knows what he’s doing. He knows the devastatingly fine line that he’s walking. Distantly he hears Magnus’s voice whisperwhen things get crazy, don’t push me away.It wraps around him before dissolving in a murky wisp.





	Once You Taste It

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I just wanted to give a warning that this does contain self harm but no more than the show portrays.

Alec doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

He knows what he wants to do. The feeling gnaws at him, chewing on his very bones, and it’s all he can do not to stride out of his office, down the corridor, and straight to the training room. He stares at his computer, eyes unseeing, focused far more on images and memories of destruction yet salvation.

He craves the feeling of clarity and he knows exactly how to get it.

It’s been a hard day. He’s stressed to the max, he’d fucked up a mission last night that makes bile scald his throat, and he’s tired. He’s so goddamn tired that it feels like he’s dragging his very soul behind him. It’s scraped and bruised and seems to weigh a thousand pounds.

He feels wrong. It’s been ages since he felt like an impostor in his own skin.

It’s been a few years since he was a lost boy stuck in a world that locked him in a choke hold every minute of every goddamn day. 

He feels that wave of oppression wash over him and his shoulders slump. He feels half out of his body. He feels disconnected and welcomes it.

Jesus Christ, he is so fucking tired.

His gaze drops and he realizes that he’s digging his nails into his hand. His head feels fuzzy and muddled and he pushes down harder, chasing the tiniest rush of euphoria coated clarity. It’s like a deep breath after being under water just a touch too long. It’s not much but it makes him want to press down harder, keep chasing that elusive wave.

He knows all too well how easy it is to lose yourself chasing that ephemeral feeling.

A vicious need claws at him. It’s rides him hard-- harder than it’s been since he met Magnus, since everything he thought he knew turned upside down.

He’s laser focused on his hands. He loosens his grip for a minute, sees the purple crescents along his thumb and feels his chest crack open.

He knows what he’s doing. He knows the devastatingly fine line that he’s walking. Distantly he hears Magnus’s voice whisper _when things get crazy, don’t push me away_.

It wraps around him before dissolving in a murky wisp.

Things aren’t so dire that he needs to burden Magnus with them. It’s been a shit week. He’s had them before and will have them countless times in the future. He’s an adult; he’s a Lightwood, the Head of an Institute. He knows how not to crumble when things get tough or a little unpleasant.

It feels like there are two parts of him-- one is rational and telling him to get a goddamn grip on himself. The other is lost, dazed, leeching onto the bite of pain radiating down his hand.

Time stops for a heartbeat, for two and three seconds before he takes a heaving breath and finally releases his hand.

He’s relieved to see that he didn’t break skin. That would have ruined things. That would have been too far.

He tries to ignore just how much everything in him yearns to continue, to keep going until he doesn’t have to think. He pictures the wire of his bow, taut and thin enough to slice almost effortlessly. He thinks about the dull thud of his knuckles against a punching bag and how that pain soaked pleasure always grounded him.

Head dropping to his hands, he pushes his palms until his eyes start stinging. God, he has to get a hold of himself. He doesn’t know why but his willpower feels the thinnest, the most vulnerable, it’s been in years.

He knows that every time he hurt himself-- as punishment, as reward, just for an escape-- that he lost a piece of his soul. Before Magnus came along, Alec had sardonically wondered if there was anything left, had figured that he was used and faded and lost.

He knows that he’s so much more now. He knows that he is whole and complete and worthy of much more than he gives himself credit for.

It’s just so hard sometimes. It feels damn near impossible today.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He feels a little bit like a sheep-- he wants someone to guide him, to tell him what to do. He needs a distraction.

Shuddering breaths wrack his lungs. Focusing on his breathing, he tries to calm down, tries to consciously slow his heart from where it feels like it’s trying to beat out of his chest.

Everything is just _so much_ and he feels overwhelmed in the most miserable way.

It’s shameful, embarrassing, sticks in his craw. He’s craving pain. In his own mind, he can admit that he wants to hurt, he wants to feel something that he shouldn’t, that no sane person would ever yearn for.

He thought he was past this. Hazily, he thinks that he’s close to the anniversary since he last hurt himself and here he is, years later, feeling just as much captive as when he was in over his head.

Suddenly, he can’t take it anymore. He stands up-- really, more like lurches-- and winces as his chair moves back, hitting his bookcase with a thud that feels too loud in the silent room.

He wants to scream. The silence is oppressive and presses down on him until he feels himself crumbling. 

He doesn’t stop to grab his keys or his phone or even his jacket. His footsteps echo down the corridor and he must look unapproachable for no one tries to get his attention. There’s always someone who needs him to sign something or needs his advice or just wants to talk about something asinine.

Except today, apparently.

He walks straight through the front doors of the Institute into the chilly October afternoon. The sun is shining, which seems the worst sort of betrayal, masking the coldness. He feels both overheated and frigid and glares-- at everything.

He starts walking in one direction, aimlessly, past coffee shops and boutiques and corner markets.

New York is thriving as always and it doesn’t take Alec long to realize that this is worse. Now there’s too much noise. It’s jarring and almost feels like static feedback screeching in his ears. His brain still feels like it’s wrapped in cotton and he’s almost disoriented.

He just wants to stop. So, he does. Right in the middle of the sidewalk, Alec stops and is immediately jostled as people run into him. He doesn’t see their glares, just dazedly makes his way the few steps until he can lean against the brick wall. Hundreds of people pass him just inches away and Alec’s never felt more alone.

Suddenly, he realizes that he doesn’t have to be alone or lonely. Like a swimmer breaking the surface, one thought shines bright.

He wants Magnus.

Alec tries to think back to Magnus’s schedule for the day but can’t quite remember anything except a morning consultation. He looks up, recoiling as the sun pierces his eyes, before his gaze catches on a street sign. 

He must’ve been walking towards the loft on autopilot for he’s almost halfway there. With no money or his phone, Alec has no choice but to continue walking. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he glares at the ground as he walks the familiar route. He shivers as the chill licks up his spine and wishes he could activate a heat rune.

It feels like ages before Alec is sloughing up the steps of their building, inserting his key and entering the elevator on autopilot, all of his focus on the fact that he’s so close to home.

There are no expectations in their loft. Alec is free there in a way that he rarely is anywhere else. It’s only a matter of minutes until Alec can be in comfortable clothes and can tumble into sheets that smell like Magnus. His body sags just at the thought.

Slouching in the corner of the elevator, it takes Alec a moment to realize that the bell has sounded-- a delayed reaction if ever there was one-- before he’s walking down the corridor.

Wards attuned to him, the door to the penthouse opens as Alec reaches for it, a quiet snick in the silence of the hallway. Entering the apartment, Alec feels like the weight of Atlas has dropped from his shoulders as he carefully toes off his shoes as if it’s the most herculean of tasks.

Hearing footsteps, he looks ups as Magnus enters the living room.

“Alexander,” he greets warmly. “You’re home early.”

He breaks off as he comes closer and sees Alec’s face. The quiet devastation is easily visible in the smudged shadows under his fiance’s eyes and the way his fist is clenched as if to warn anyone from getting to close.

Luckily, Magnus has never heeded a warning when it didn’t suit him. He walks the last few steps until he’s standing right in front of Alec, raising a hand to cup his cheek. His heart turns over as Alec shudders, nuzzling into his palm as if it holds the world’s comfort.

If Magnus trusts what he sees, then that might not be too far away from the truth.

They stay like that for a dozen heartbeats, Magnus slowly sweeping his thumb along Alec’s cheek in a soothing gesture before Alec sighs and steps even closer, wrapping his arms around his middle and burrowing his face in Magnus’s neck.

Magnus returns the hold tightly, quietly sways them back and forth and hums some tune that might be a Top 40 hit if he paid close enough attention.

He has no idea how much time has passed before he tentatively murmurs, “What’s wrong, my darling?”

Alec presses further into Magnus for a long pause before finally pulling back. He clears his throat before hesitantly saying, “I’m not pushing you away.”

The words don’t quite fit and Magnus’s mind whirls as he tries to place the obviously important answer. Alec’s gaze is searching his and it’s a heartbeat later that Magnus’s own heart stops before picking up in a painful rhythm.

His eyes go soft as he looks over Alec for any obvious signs of what might have happened today. It doesn’t take him long to zero in on his hands and Alec is tense but silent as Magnus checks over every inch of his right hand before moving onto his left.

He doesn’t suck in a breath. Instead, he inhales slowly, deeply so that Alec doesn’t feel any more weight than he’d obviously been carrying. Magnus knows far too well how devastating it can be to show someone the less pleasant parts of yourself and have them find you lacking as a result.

Magnus could never find Alec anything but beautiful and brave.

He brings Alec’s left hand up and sees the small bruises that trail along his thumb and palm. He sweeps his own thumb along Alec’s hand, touch achingly gentle as blue wisps of magic sink into Alec’s skin, healing the little marks. With that done, he keeps his head down, watching them both as he holds Alec’s hand, links their fingers and squeezes just a little-- not even close enough to be uncomfortable, let alone hurt.

“I’m sorry.”

Magnus’s head snaps up as Alec mutters those words, voice hoarse and gaze so clearly trying to avoid Magnus’s.

Magnus steps infinitesimally closer, pulls Alec’s head down until their foreheads are touching. This close, Alec has no place to look except at Magnus. Magnus’s heart breaks, just a little, as Alec closes his eyes in seemingly slow motion as if too weary to deal with anything else.

Stroking the fine skin at the corner of his eye, Magnus says, “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, Alexander. I’m sorry that you had a bad day and while I’m not happy that you hurt yourself, no matter how small, I am so much more proud of you that you didn’t do anything more and that you came home-- that you came to me-- when things got bad. I love you, darling, and I am always here for you.”

Alec’s eyes open as Magnus finishes his impassioned speech and their eyes meet in a weighted clash, each too lost to look anywhere else.

Finally, Alec sags into Magnus’s hold, murmuring, “Can we go to bed?”

Smiling softly, Magnus replies, “Of course.”

He leads Alec to their bedroom, not letting go of his hand and then they’re both changing into more comfortable clothes.

Alec chooses an ancient pair of sweatpants and one of Magnus’s hoodies. He needs to feel warm, though he can admit that the glacier that had been turning his chest icy has already started melting.

Sliding under the covers, he meets Magnus in the middle. He tucks his head under Magnus’s chin and hums as Magnus slips a hand under his hoodie so that his hand can warm bare skin. That warmth radiates and Alec feels his eyes growing impossibly heavy.

Residual shame still burns him. Alec knows that it might take a few hours, maybe a few days, for him to stop feeling like he failed. He didn’t fail. Really, he’s never failed. He is still here, after all. He made it to Magnus and as long as that stays true, Alec will always be okay.

The sleep of the exhausted claims Alec and as he falls asleep, he burrows further into Magnus until there’s not an inch of space separating them.

Magnus, for his part, stays awake a little longer, watching over Alec during their afternoon nap. Alec is stronger than he knows and in the quiet solace of their bedroom, Magnus noses along Alec’s hair, kisses the top of his head.

Magnus had once told Alec that he’d been called too much. Alec’s shared, a time or two, that sometimes he feels the same way. He worries that Magnus will be turned off by his bad days and residual coping methods. The truth is that Alec could never do anything that would be too much. Alec has supported Magnus through everything, has taken his past and his weaknesses in stride with a soothing kiss and firm words. Magnus can’t do anything else for Alec. 

Alec is everything to him and Magnus promised himself long ago that he would never let Alec go.

Alec’s heat eventually lulls Magnus into his own sleep. The afternoon light grows weak as shadows stretch across the walls of their bedroom. Alec wakes up groggy but feeling like he can finally breathe again. He sighs a little, kissing Magnus’s forehead before sliding out of bed.

He may not want to run a marathon but he can make dinner. He quietly pads out of the bedroom, carefully pulling the door closed before making his way into the kitchen, turning on the light.

It’s a cold evening, winter knocking on the door a little sooner than Alec had hoped, and he’s in the mood for something hearty. Settling on a stew, Alec settles into preparing dinner.

He likes cooking, has always enjoyed it. While some recipes have been more successful than others, he’s always found the methodical routine of it soothing, relaxing in a way that little else was for so long.

He pauses as he finishes stirring, replacing the lid on the pot. He looks down at his healed hand, touching the place where little marks had littered it this afternoon. Maybe he could’ve done better-- but he for damn sure could have done worse and sometimes the victories are in the little things, the small steps that just grow bigger as time moves forward.

Magnus wakes up eventually, just as Alec is pulling bread out of the oven, and they take steaming bowls to the table where they enjoy dinner and a surprisingly lively conversation filled with laughter and silly debates.

They make it an early night, watching a movie while eating hot fudge sundaes, sitting close together on the couch. It’s just the kind of relaxing evening that Alec had been needing-- and Magnus, too.

They go back to bed just a few hours after they left it and both fall back asleep quickly. Alec knows that he’ll have rough days again but he also knows that he can make it through. Maybe not completely unscathed, but he hopes that one day this weight won’t be quite so suffocating, that he won’t always suffer those pangs of longing that have plagued him for so long.

He has hope and that’s something he did without for oh so long. It makes all the difference and as he falls asleep, Alec’s last thought is that Magnus helps more than he could ever know, more than he thought possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr @carmenlire!


End file.
